the dying light of cigarettes
by the family ghost
Summary: "well mattie, were with the US army, aka the ones going to save your sorry asses and i dont th-" alfred was cut short by crack in the distants. however the scream that torn through the air was right behind him. one-shot for Remembrance Day


**A/N: I was originally going to abstain from writing on Remembrance Day, like I usually do on holidays. But then I remembered this one story that my brother told me about. I'm not sure if its a true story but its interesting. Its based on the fact that the Canadians and other Commonwealth countries entered both World Wars before the Americans. To be honest, I cant remember which one this story is from. **

**Rating: I'm going to rate it T for violence as well as the use of ethnic slurs. **

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><p>Alfred watched the smoke slowly drifting and swirling in the low light as he took another long drag from his cigarette. "Can't wait to go and kick some Kraut ass, eh Alfred." He turned to his friends Parker and big Joe. All of them were from the same town; all of them thought that it was a great idea to join the army when they heard that America had finally joined the war.<p>

"I hear that." Alfred replied enthusiastically, before handing big Joe his lighter. They had just got here to the front. After all that training and time wasted in English pubs, the head ups finally shipped them off to the front line. They had been assigned night watch and decided that a nice smoke would be in order. "So how long you think before this whole thing is over? Mind you, now that we're here, them stupid krauts won't last much longer." All three of them started laughing and chatting.

After a minute, Alfred could feel a soft tap on his shoulder. He turned to find another soldier standing behinds him, dressed in the British greenish brown uniform. A single curl stuck up from under his helmet and hung in front of his face, dangling between his dull violet blue eyes. Alfred was curious at the way his eyes seemed to stare right through him, like the kid could see for miles and miles. And he defiantly was a kid; he barley looked older than Alfred, who was only 20. Yet the look in his eyes made it seem like he had fought a million battles, like war was all he knew in life. "Hey, you should put those out." He said in a low tone, almost drowned out by the distant sound of shelling.

"And what gives you the right to tell us what to do?" Parker replied snidely. He was always a bit of a jerk, but he cared about his friends. The young soldier was silent.

Alfred stepped away from his friends to stand in front of the soldier. He didn't much like this kid. "What's your name?"

"Private Matthew Williams with the 2nd Canadian Division." He replied.

"Well Mattie. Were with the US army, aka the ones that are going to save your sorry asses and I don't th-" Alfred's rant was cut short when two distinct cracks sounded in the distance. The shots were distant, but the blood curdling scream that ripped through the air was right behind him.

"OH GOD! MY HAND!" Alfred turned back to see Parker clutching the mangled remains of his fingers. A snipers bullet had torn though the knuckles of his right hand; the hand he was holding his cigarette in. Big Joe was faring even worse. The bullet had hit him right in the jaw, tearing the tenants and leaving his jaw slack. He died with a permanent scream on his face.

Alfred was too shocked to do anything but gap at his injured friends. He hardly saw the solemn look on the Canadians face as he wearily shook his head. He pried the still smoking cigarette from Alfred's fingers and flicked it to the ground, crushing it under his boot. "That's why you don't smoke during the night watch. Trust me, I've been here longer than you." He said softly before stepping over to his injured friend.

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><p>"Hey Matt. It's me Al. I know I should have visited sooner, but I've been kind of busy. I have a family now." Alfred played with the end of his freshly laundered uniform. He looked down at the shining medals pinned to the front. "I don't really deserve these you know. You're the one that does. You helped me get through it. If it wasn't for you I would have probably been picked off by that sniper that first night. Or from that surprise attack a few weeks later. You got me through it all of it."<p>

He unpinned one of his medals from it rest. "If I could I would give you this. If I could…I would trade with you." He said looking down at the gleaming white stone. The words Prvt. Matthew Williams was etched into it along with a maple leaf. "Everyone keeps saying that I'm some sort of hero. But I'm not. You're a hero Mattie. You gave your life for your country. For your family and friends." The only thing I ever did was listen to you and somehow made it through. You deserve this more than me." He said laying his medal in front of the stone. He stood and wordlessly gave a salute to the final resting place of the one man that single handed pulled him through one of the most trying period in history. Before he turned to leave, he wiped away a single tear that had slipped down through the valleys of his aging cheeks.

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><p><em>Dedicated to all the men and women who have fought for our freedom. <em>


End file.
